The temple air was thick.
Not with incense or ancient dust, but with something far more powerful.
Pheromones.
Every step Henry took deeper into the Temple of Bootia felt like sinking into a warm, overly moisturized dream. The stone floor was suspiciously soft, like memory foam kissed by thighs. The walls shimmered with sacred oils, glowing gently, each pulse matching the rhythm of a distant, cosmic twerk.
He was alone now.
Well... sort of.
Statues lined the path toward the Chamber—each one a sensual masterpiece, frozen mid-squat, mid-arch, or mid-ride. Their eyes seemed to follow him, silently judging the lack of oil on his calves.
Focus, Henry told himself. You've survived thigh traps, cheek mazes, and the sacred sprinkling. This is just another room. Another bounce.
He passed under an arched doorway shaped suspiciously like hips in mid-sway. A warm wind brushed his bare chest, and the chamber opened before him.
It was massive.
And soaked in sin.
